


Five Hundred Sixteen

by LittleSweetCheeks



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: AU, Angst, Divorce, Friendship, Gen, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks
Summary: He hadn't been counting the days since her world, and his by extension, had been rocked.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord & Blake Moran, Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Five Hundred Sixteen

It had been seventeen months. Seventy-four weeks. Five hundred and sixteen days. Over five thousand nine hundred hours, if you assumed he limited himself to his old eighty-hour workweek.

Which he didn’t.

Limit… not assume.

He’d sworn an oath, to himself because anyone else would think he was even more nuts than they probably already did, to not leave her side through the whole process. Every meal, every meeting, every event, and speech, he’d promised into the darkness, over a glass of celebratory scotch the night she resigned, that Elizabeth McCord would not face this step in her life alone. She would not run for president without someone she could depend on, talk to, at her side.

Not after what had happened that day in the office. Not after the utter collapse of a right and true and sane world.

His body and brain were currently suspended in some sort of matrix-esque moment and while his eyes watched disaster unfold before him over the heads of strangers, his mind… His mind remembered the last disaster.

The last disaster had not been of his making, not like now.

The last disaster had been a semi moving at seventy hitting a hummingbird… The hummingbird never had a chance.

He could still feel the electricity of the day, the excitement as Elizabeth was about to walk into her office and announce that Dalton had accepted her resignation. His eyes had been on her, on her face, watching for nerves, but then…

But then he’d been waved to the door, a messenger had been at his desk with an envelope. He didn’t hesitate to unseal it to ascertain its importance. He could still feel the way his blood had run cold. The way his mouth had gone dry as reporters filed out and then Elizabeth was looking for him, eyes aglow as she beamed from her doorway.

He’d only been the messenger, but he’d felt crushed under the weight of how utterly cruel it was that it landed in his hand now. Planned no doubt, for maximum effect. He’d ushered her back inside, shutting doors before holding the papers to his chest, refusing to let her see.

_‘Ma’am… It appears Henry has filed for divorce…’_

Even now, as he’s watching a fresh disaster, this time of his own making, he still can’t believe those words ever came out of his mouth seventeen short months ago.

Not that he was counting.

Every meal… every speech… Every step on or off a bus… on or off a stage… His hand in hers because she deserved to not feel alone, she deserved to feel supported. Her faith in herself had been shaken when he’d spoken those words and he’d nearly killed himself making sure it didn’t crumble completely. He’d carried the burden of making sure she had someone at her side whenever she looked up.

But today…

There were only two months left. Crunch time. Henry had been calling him for days because Blake had caught on quick that every conversation between now-nearly-ex husband and wife ended angry, hateful, and tear-filled. He’d blocked Henry’s number from Elizabeth’s phone, forcing Henry to call his instead. He forced all conversations to be made in his presence where he could intervene and mitigate disasters.

But today…

She was on the stage speaking and his phone had buzzed. Temperatures were high and tensions were higher and he never claimed to have the calm reserve of his boss, so when his caller ID said it was Henry… again… Blake had moved away from the crowd to answer. Henry knew where they were, knew the time, knew demanding Elizabeth’s attention now was a non-starter. Henry was Russell two-point-oh, taking shots at him to work him up in order to irritate Elizabeth.

He’d turned his back, missed the end of her speech and her approach to the rickety stairs with no rail. The Secret Service agents didn’t seem to notice his missing presence, didn’t step in to take his place. It was only seconds ago now, but to his mind it felt like hours.

A scream and his head snapped around; Henry already forgotten. An almighty crack of wood and then… chaos.

One moment she’d been in his line of sight at the stage edge and then… gone.

His fault.

He hadn’t been there.

The matrix stretched and shifted, and the crowd grew as people shouted for help. Time snapped, finally, back into place and he ran, clutching his phone because there was no time to shove it away, forcing himself through the crowd, shoving people out of the way.

He had one job. Had been doing one job for five hundred and sixteen days. He’d looked away once… Just once… And now she was on her back in a pile of kindling, breathing hard, one arm at an angle that made his stomach twist. She was in pain…

And it was all his fault.

She spoke, called his name, and people began to look around, look at him, so he knelt beside her, shielding her from the gawkers with his body. When she reached for him, attempting to pull herself upright, he pulled her close.

It was all his fault. He’d allowed his anger with Henry to distract him from the job. His one job.

“You weren’t here.” Her tone sounds scared, but he couldn’t help hearing an accusation.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t let me go.”

Seventeen months, seventy-four weeks, five hundred and sixteen days… over five thousand nine hundred hours. And he had another two months, eight weeks, sixty days, too many hours, left to go.

And that was assuming she _didn’t_ win.

He didn’t plan on making this mistake twice.

“I’ll never let go.”


End file.
